Date: Thu, 26 Mar 2015 15:09:48 -0400
From: J.A. Kidd
Subject: Dream Boy - Chapter 7; New World
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School was terrible. Not the classes, which were typical and
perhaps a bit behind the level I had been at on base, but the people. They
had life-long friends. I was the new kid. I was forced into a fight by my
third day. I gave as good as I got, but hated every second of it.
My sister had no such problems. Girls are definitely different.
The bus rides home were a daily gauntlet of insults and
harassing. A kid named "Hank" assured me that it wouldn't last. They would
find another target soon enough, as long as I stood my ground when it got
physical. Now, I was never a big fighter, but I had learned that the
easiest way to get someone to stop trying to fight you was to not care
about doing serious damage.
When "Leon" decided I was going to be his victim, I let him in
close, let him land one (a good one), and backfisted him just behind the
temple. He went down like a sack of feed corn. Whereas I could have stood
over him and finished what I started, I simply turned around and left him
there. His friends waited until I got some distance before hurling taunts
at me, none of which carried any seriousness to them.
I'd made my point. I hate fighting, but that doesn't mean I can't
do it.
After we had been there for over a month, and I still had no
friends to speak of, my Dad asked me if I'd considered trying the Scouts
again.
I told him that it didn't really interest me, but he asked if I'd
meet one of the local Troop's leaders anyway. Just to see.
Fine.
On a Monday evening, a knock came on the door.
At the door was a fairly tall man in khaki shorts. He was broad
across the shoulders and had a bit of a gut, not obese, but heavy. He would
be called a "bear" in today's world. He had powerful legs beneath the hem
of the baggy shorts and his auburn hair was evident all over him.
He was introduced as "Dwayne".
My folks went into their bedroom, leaving the two of us alone. He
did his best to convince me to try the Scouts again, telling me everything
that I had heard before. Good deeds and badges and citizenship and all that
happy horseshit.
He sat on the sofa and I on my Dad's recliner in my favorite
shorts.
I listened out of politeness, but was simply not interested. As I
was telling him about my last experience with the organization and how it
held so little interest that I simply stopped going, I noticed that his
eyes were not meeting mine as much. He was glancing more and more at my
bare legs.
To see if I was right, while he tried to explain that every troop
was different and theirs was a much more friendly group, I turned in the
chair, throwing one leg over the arm. If he wanted to see the package, this
was the view he was after.
I told him, it wasn't the lack of friendliness, it was the whole
concept.
Bingo. He kept looking at my thighs.
Okay. Let's see how far we can take this.
He had asked if there was any particular reason I dislike the
Scouts so much, I sighed and cast a look down the hall, as if I were afraid
of being overheard.
He got the hint and asked my Dad if it would be alright to take a
walk, that there might be something I wanted to discuss in private (Oh, was
there ever).
Once outside, I was given the unwitting aid of several kids in the
lawn running around and by us. I looked at them and at Dwayne. He suggested
we sit in his car.
He had a station wagon. As we approached it, I pictured myself in
the flat, back area, my face down and my butt up in the air getting drilled
relentlessly. It made me grin as we climbed in and sat down.
"So," he asked. "What's the reason you don't want to try the Scouts
again."
Okay, here we go. "I just don't think they'd like me," I
answered. "Once they find out I like guys as much as girls."
He was quiet for a few seconds. With my head half turned, I caught
him glancing at my soft, young thighs again, so I turned in the seat,
giving him a better view.
"You like boys?" he asked with his throat working on a series of
swallows.
"Sure," I said. "But, not as much as I like men."
He swallowed hard. I saw his Adam's apple jump two or three times
before he spoke again. His gaze was practically glued to my lap now. "Have
you-... have you ever-...?"
"Yes." His eyes came up to mine. I smiled suggestively.
After another few seconds (and a few more hard swallows) he asked,
"And you're sure you don't wanna join the Scouts?"
"I might think about it," the Little Buddy said. "If there was a
really good reason to."
He swallowed a few more times, his eye jumping from mine to my open
legs and back. There might be one. There just might be one.
I went to the first Scout meeting the following Wednesday evening.
Dad came along, not only as my ride, but to see what they were
like. He spent most of the meeting sitting with Dwayne and talking. They
went over the same drivel as the other group. The same drawn-out bullshit
about badges and good deeds and upcoming events.
I was bored to tears.
The boys acted like I was more of an intrusion than a potential
recruit. There weren't even any that sparked any interest, except perhaps
one of the older boys, who was about to leave the troop due to age
anyway. There was, of course the momentary fantasy about being the object
of a gangbang, but that would probably just get me beat up, so it faded
quickly.
When we got home, I told my folks that it just didn't hold my
interest.
Dwayne, they told me, was worried about my lack of friends. He
thought I could use something other than my books and radio.
I told them flatly, "I like Dwayne, just not the Scouts."
How I had managed it was beyond me, but Dad got on the phone. It
was decided that, if I was willing, Dwayne would come by every now and
then. He would take me fishing or perhaps camping, and generally be a
mentor and friend.
Okay. Sounds good.
Anything to get to spend more time around him. He might have been
new at this sort of thing. I might have to bring him along.
As soon as he was told that it was alright with me, I was put on
the phone with him.
Would I like to go fishing this Saturday?
Why, yes. Yes, I would like that very much, thank you.
He seemed very happy about that. Very happy indeed.
Just as the sun breached the horizon that Saturday, there was a
knock on the door. There was Dwayne, wearing the same khaki shorts and a
silly hat with hooks and lures and an embroidered fish jumping from the
water.
I was told to have a good time. (Let's hope) We went out to his
station wagon, where he had all the necessary regalia for a day of fishing.
I had brought my rucksack, with a plastic jug of Kool-Aid, a beach
towel, and (of course) my trusty tube. (There was no sense in being
unprepared)
As we drove out of the apartment complex, I asked if we had
everything that we would need. He seemed certain that we did.
We drove for more than half an hour, out into the country beyond
the sprawl of the city. He wanted to know about school and friends and how
I was adjusting to my new life and everything he should have asked about. I
answered honestly.
I asked where we were headed.
"A lake I know of," he told me. "I go camping out there once in a
while."
"With the Boy Scouts?"
"No," he answered. "With some friends of mine. One's from the
Scouts, but we go camping ourselves once in a while."
"You really like camping, huh?"
He smiled and nodded. "I like getting away from the world when I
can."
I understood that.
On a divided four-lane, he slowed down at a crossover, turning left
onto a narrow road that stretched into thick forest. It branched twice,
Dwayne taking the right turn each time. The pavement ended and we bounced
along on the dirt track.
I saw the lake off to the right. We circled around for a while
before he pulled to the side where there was a wide spot. Across from it
was a foot path leading down to the shore.
"This is it," he announced.
In three minutes, we were walking down the path, carrying poles and
a tackle box and a net. We reached the shore and found a flat spot to set
down. Hooks were baited, lines were cast, and we sat watching the tips of
the poles.
I had worn another pair of shorts that day. They weren't quite as
short, but were looser. If I crossed my legs just right, he would have a
decent view of my brief-covered balls. I shifted around, as if I were
uncomfortable, scooting closer to him each time.
I think he took notice the third time, because he blushed.
He tried to talk about the same things most adults wanted to talk
about. The things they thought were important to a kid, but that kids
generally thought were bullshit. I let him go on, answering politely and
honestly.
Okay, I thought. He's checked me out four or five times. He goes
quiet immediately afterward, and then he asks me about friends and
girls. Time to get him bothered enough to get on subject here. Daylight's
burning.
I got a flash of myself and Carl in the PX.
"I gotta go piss," I told him, standing up and setting the pole
down. I stepped over to the nearest large tree, discovering that I did have
to piss. As I had in the PX restroom, I pulled down both shorts and
underwear, dropping them as far as my knees, and started wetting the fallen
leaves and pine needles.
Hey, back there. You checking out this sweet, young ass?
I shook off and bent to pull up my shorts, being sure to bend at
the waist and show him a little between the cheeks.
Yep. When I turned around, Dwayne was as red as a beet. His eyes
were wide and his hand on the pole was trembling.
I sat back down, close enough to him that I could feel his body
heat, and picked up my pole, sticking it between my spread thighs.
He finally got it. With a heavy, chest-shaking sigh, he asked, "So,
these boys...?"
I turned to him smiling. "What about `em?"
"How... how did that get started?"
Again, I had no reason to lie. I told him about the fort. I told
him about Derek and Jason and Bruce. I told him about Johnny and his "new
sensation" and how much I liked it. I told him about Eddie and me and what
we shared. As far as Vic and Carl, I sort of blended them into one person,
telling him not only about the beauty of being pounded into the
psychologist's couch but the adoration and love I felt (in such a short
time) for Carl.
His face stayed red throughout. I left the stories hanging in the
air. There was nothing more for me to say. He had to be the next one to
speak. That would tell me whether or not I had been right about him.
But, he didn't say anything for a while. The silence was about to
get to me.
Say something, damn it. It's your move, make it.
Finally, as I was about to screw up the situation by throwing out
some random thing that might derail the whole endeavor, he asked plainly,
"So, do you even like fishing?"
Ah hah! He got it.
"Not really."
Come on. Figure it out. You can do it.
His head lifted and he started looking around the area. He wasn't
looking for jumping fish. He wasn't looking for a better fishing spot. He
wasn't looking for inclement weather.
He was looking to see if there was anyone around. Not someone that
might have overheard, but anyone at all. Anyone whose presence might put a
stop to his next move, his next question.
Other than tweeting birds and various tiny fauna scurrying through
the leaves and underbrush, we were the only living creatures in sight.
"You wanna get outta here?" he asked.
Like a brazen hussy that not only understood, but had been waiting
for just such a question, I asked, "Do you know a good spot?"
He turned to me with an expression that blended surprise with
acceptance. Once again, he cast a gaze around the area, this time looking
over his shoulder at the road itself.
When he turned back to me, he was wearing a slight grin. "Yeah," he
said. "I think I do."
The fishing gear was tossed (almost haphazardly) into the rear
section of the station wagon and we were back in the front seat. He drove
us further around the lake until the road forked, we could keep following
the banks of the lake or turn away, deeper into the thick trees.
Dwayne did the latter. Deeper and deeper into the shadow-casting
forest, further and further from the world.
He stopped and backed into a small side road, getting the long car
out of sight of the trail. There was a wide, flat area with a fire pit and
a warped, faded picnic table back there. A public campground. It was out of
the sight of any passersby. It was shaded. It was private. It was perfect.
I wasted exactly zero time. As soon as he shut off the engine and
sat back in the seat, I crawled over to him and slipped an arm around his
neck, kissing him just below the ear.
His hesitation made me think that he was a rookie at this. I
learned later (through the clear pane of hindsight) that he was the
"grooming" type. It was likely my aggressive approach that threw him off
his game.
Once I placed my free hand on his thigh, nibbling at the lobe of
his ear (which seemed to work well on Carl), he relaxed and got the
point. His arm slid around my back and he pulled me onto his lap.
He had scratchy stubble on his chin, but that didn't matter right
then. He wasn't as good a kisser as Carl, but I didn't care. He was getting
into it as much as I was.
We made out for a while, his hands exploring my back and legs and
eventually, my butt.
He took the lead (at last) and said, "Let's get more comfortable."
I had to veto the back seat. I pointed at the very rear. "There's a
lot more room back there."
The fishing poles and gear were placed on the floor of the back
seat and the seat itself folded down, providing even more space. He lifted
the trap door in the rear (where there was actually a third seat hidden)
and removed a thick, heavy comforter. It had stains on it that might have
been soil or grease, but it was soft and provided a bit of cushion.
Excellent. He was more prepared than I had suspected.
We clambered in and pulled down the door.
The few moments of shock that he showed during that initial session
went away quickly.
I started by crawling right up into his arms again and planting
heavy kisses on him that he answered with enthusiastic hums and moans. I
sat up and pulled off my tee shirt, pulling at his as soon as we were
kissing again.
Since it had worked well with Carl, I kissed down his chest and
sucked and flicked my tongue on his hairy nipples. The hair was new to me,
but his reaction was perfect. I felt his boner growing against my hip and
shifted myself so that I could grind our hard members together.
When I had him shivering and moaning, I continued down his fairly
rotund belly, kissing every couple inches on my journey to his belt.
"Jesus," he whispered.
Okay, I was mildly disappointed. He wasn't as long as either Carl
or Vic, more along the lines of Lenny, but his dick was thick and perfectly
tapered and was as hard as a rock by the time I freed it from his
restrictive briefs. As he struggled out of the baggy shorts, I did the
same. He left his socks on, which I thought was strange, but I didn't
care. I wasn't after his feet.
Once again, there I was, naked in the back of a car with a
grown-up.
Slowly, I ran my hands up each of his legs, crawling toward that
stiff boner. He watched with happy fascination as I neared it. Giving him
an eye-to-eye grin, I took his pecker in my hand and gave it a squeeze and
a stroke.
"Jesus," he whispered again.
He had a lot more body hair than either Vic or Carl, but it wasn't
a turn-off. I took the head of his dick in my mouth and started sucking,
licking, stroking, everything that I had found effective.
Dwayne had lain back against the folded back seat, with his legs
stretched out into the flat storage are in the very rear. It gave me easy
access and provided a lot of space.
With the fervor of being deprived for several weeks, I slurped and
sucked at him, groaning appreciatively and hungrily, making sure to stroke
with every bob of the head.
Oh, I had missed this. The taste, the texture, the feel of him.
With a familiar groan, he flexed his hips, pumping himself into my
moist mouth as I sucked him. Well, I thought. He's not gonna last long, is
he?
Fine. I sucked harder, I stroked harder, I worked his head with
more targeted attention.
And... there it was. SPLURT-SPLURT-SPLURT-SPLURT.
He gave me a good mouthful of manjuice. It wasn't such a wad that I
couldn't swallow it easily. It was similar to Vic's, thick and salty. Not
quite as stringy as some, but it had a texture that I was willing to leave
in my mouth for a few seconds before swallowing.
Making sure I had drained him first, I crawled back up into his
arms. He was willing to kiss me even with his taste still on my tongue, so
I did. His hands found my naked butt, fondling and stroking. He was a
little more forceful when he started fingering my butthole, rubbing it and
pushing the tip in just a bit.
"Wait," I said. "Not dry. It'll hurt."
He looked at me with a silent question.
"Hold on." I crawled up to the back of the front seat and reached
over for my rucksack. In that position, my hard pecker was right in his
face. He took it in his mouth and sucked on it for a bit. I let him,
digging out my nearly empty tube of lube and waiting for either my own
orgasm or his losing interest.
He didn't lose interest.
I found myself holding the back of his head and basically fucking
his face. He did not complain. I gave him what I had, coming with jolts and
spasms, and he swallowed all of it.
Phase one complete.
I eased back down beside him, letting him kiss me again. His hands
went back to my butt cheeks. I handed the tube to him with a grin. He
looked at it for a second.
He shook his head. "You really thought this out, didn't you?"
"Mm-hmm."
I laid my head on his chest, just at the top of his protruding
belly, and stuck my butt up in the air.
Pop.
Yeah, here we go.
He was rougher than the others, but he fingered my hole in the same
progression of one, two, and three fingers. I groaned happily and moved my
hips. My breath came heavier. I started kissing his belly and chest,
sucking on his nipples again and felt for his dick. I had to get it hard
again and it took longer than I hoped, but he kept probing deeper and
deeper inside me as I did so.
When we were both prepped and properly lubed up, I tossed the tube
onto the floorboards of the back seat, and threw one leg over him. It was
wider ride, but that only spread my legs more. I guided him in, got past
that single point of pain, and started riding.
He didn't waste time. He grabbed my butt cheeks and helped me
ride. I leaned down and kissed him as I rode his pecker into me. Again,
there were deeper places to reach than he was going to be able to get to,
but I was getting my ass fucked by a grown-up, so I didn't care.
It got more intense as we went on. We tried to get into the doggie
position, but there wasn't enough headroom again. We lay in a spoon
position and he was able to work that for a bit. At last, I scrunched up
the comforter and lay on my back, throwing my legs up and over, exposing my
butthole to him.
He was heavier than either Carl or Vic, but he was able to fuck me
deeper than before and his weight drove his pecker in with more force.
Once more, he was rougher than they had been. We might have to work
on that.
But, then again, no. He was able to pound with flesh-slapping
power, pumping his dick into my ass. His belly kept me pressed to the hard
deck of the station wagon, making me feel warm all over. His thrusts filled
my cock-hungry colon over and over, making me feel wanted and sexy. And
eventually, his warm seed was shot into my innards, making me feel like I
had done my job well.
Rolling off me (after a few more minutes of dick-pumping bliss), he
sighed. "You," he announced. "Are a pleasant surprise."
I giggled and rolled onto his belly, kissing him again. "And you,"
I told him. "Know how to make me feel good."
He was not as virile as Carl (for certain), but he was able to give
me couple more good rides before the day grew late.
We had to struggle to get dressed again, having used my towel to
clean up. The gear was replaced in the rear, the comforter returned to its
spot, and we got back into the front seat. He wanted another series of deep
kisses before we started for home, so I gave him some.
And we were off.
As we passed the fishing spot, he commented, "We're gonna have to
go camping before it gets too cold out."
"Okay."
"Maybe," he began. "Maybe we could do it next weekend. I think I
could convince [Ronnie] to come along. Maybe bring a little friend of his."
"Okay."
"That way, you won't be the only... Well, there'll be another boy
your age along."
"Okay."
"You want to?"
"Sure."
He smiled wide and happy. "Yeah, you're a pleasant surprise."
He called me that Tuesday and told me it was on, if I got my
parents' permission. I didn't as much ask them as tell them. They were fine
with it (those na´ve, trusting fools). When he called again Thursday, it
was to tell me that "Ronnie" hadn't been able to get his "friend" to come
along, something about a family matter.
"That's okay," I said. "Let's go anyway."
"Just you and me?"
"No. Ronnie should come, too. If he wants to."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"You'll be the only boy."
"That's okay."
He was silent for a moment, but he said, "Alrighty then. I'll pick
you up Friday afternoon."
"I get home at three."
"I'll be there."
He was as good as his word. I had packed my rucksack Thursday
night, so I was able to get inside, change clothes, and get back down in
less than ten minutes. We headed in the same direction as our "fishing"
trip, but went beyond that turn-off. I sat beside him, in the center of the
bench seat, and cuddled against his side as we went. I didn't bother asking
where we were going, I didn't care.
We wound up at a public campground that came complete with single
cabins scattered through the woods along yet another lake. This one was
bigger, with islands of green algae floating here and there along the
banks. The scent of autumn leaves filled every lungful of breath. It was
idyllic.
The cabin he had rented for the weekend was far up the road. There
didn't seem to be another one close by. Parked beside it was a faded, blue
Toyota.
"Hm," he grunted. "Looks like Ronnie's already here."
Two. There would be two grown-ups for me. I started getting
excited, sitting up to see if I could get a look at him.
I didn't though, until we stepped inside.
Ronnie was about the same age as Dwayne, mid-thirties, but was
slimmer and more solid. He reminded me a little of Carl. His wide smile at
meeting me made me feel safe and happy. He even gave me a big hug while
Dwayne brought in the box of supplies for the weekend.
I couldn't help myself. While Ronnie had me in his arms, with my
feet off the ground, I kissed him on the cheek. He chuckled and set me back
down.
"Nice to meet you, Kid."
"Same here," I said, my eyes instantly dropping to check out any
evidence of his endowment.
We got unpacked and set the place up. There were four cots, set
against the walls of the single-room cabin. A small bathroom, with no
running water sat off to one side. It was little more than a latrine with a
wooden seat, but it would do. We unrolled the sleeping bags on two of the
cots (I didn't have one of my own, but that would probably not matter that
weekend, I would climb in with one or the other).
Dwayne started a fire in the iron pot-belly stove while Ronnie and
I got to know each other. The same adult questions, the same honest
answers. He got more in depth with his questions though. He really wanted
to know about me, so I gave thoughtful answers. He wanted to know the
deep-seated reasons that I sought adult companionship. It really made me
think. "I guess," I told him. "It's because you can teach me more than my
teachers can. About stuff I sure couldn't ask my Dad about and about my
body and what makes me feel good."
His grin was pure and honest. He nodded. "You're right, Dwayne," he
commented. "This one's special."
I was special? He thought I was special?
I felt as warm and exceptional as I had with Carl. I wanted to leap
into his arms then and there, but I restrained myself. There was time.
There was plenty of time.
To be continued...